


That Which Was Not Sought But Nevertheless Treasured

by Shokkou



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Although Is It Really Body Horror If The Person In Question Is Okay With It, Amicable Separation, Fatherhood, Gen, Implied Body Horror, Marital Difficulties Resulting From One Partner Gradually Turning Into a Space Bat, Technically Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:59:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29593158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shokkou/pseuds/Shokkou
Summary: Fate deals Mr Cards an unexpected hand.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 12





	1. In Which Fate Has a Suprise For Mr Cards

**Author's Note:**

> This is born from a discussion on Tumblr, as slightly random fic ideas often are. Make of it what you will. Reviews help the creative process and are therefore very much both encouraged and appreciated.

Things had been going well for the man sometimes known as Vincent Todd and sometimes as Mr Cards and who would one day be Mr Cards in full. His business ventures, both as Cards and in his human identity, were proving successful or were at least promising, Pages’ latest move against him had been deflected with more ease than usual, and no-one had roped him into anything or requested any hard to fulfil favours for over a month. In hindsight that should’ve been a sign that fate was going to send something unexpected his way but even if he had anticipated such a thing, his wife telling him that she was expecting would’ve still come as a surprise.

It wasn’t planned of course. It was very, very unplanned. They both had lives and plans that barely left time for one another, never mind children. They took precautions against such a thing happening, not to mention that he and his wife were rarely intimate, their relationship having become somewhat strained of late. He and his wife had been married long before he’d won the Marvellous, when his Heart’s Desire had merely been to completely change every aspect of his appearance rather than what it later became, and while she’d known that it had changed and what he now was, she didn’t fully know what it entailed. He hadn’t told her of the dream of what he hoped was the future that had altered and clarified his greatest desire, that the changes to his body were the results of a process he was actively and willingly undertaking rather than a bizarre side-effect, what the eventual outcome would be or that he regarded it all as being a good thing, despite all the pain, discomfort and inconvenience the process of changing caused him (he imagined that the fulfilment of his original desire wouldn't have been much better in that regard anyway). He’d _meant_ to tell her but he wasn’t entirely sure how to explain such things to himself, never mind someone else who he feared would be horrified by them. So with uncharacteristic cowardice he hid what he could and explained the rest with half-truths that she didn’t question, although he didn’t know if she actually believed them. 

It was nowhere near the ideal situation for a child to be born into but fate had made it clear that it didn’t care about such things and his wife rejected any suggestion of ending the pregnancy with surprising vehemence, so it’d just have to do. 

*****************

He managed to keep the news of his impending fatherhood from his new colleagues for three months, more or less. Pages was the first to find out, with how and when it did so being mysteries that he would greatly like to solve, and informed the others at a moment calculated to cause the maximum amount of distraction from its latest scheme. It almost worked.

The news was received somewhat better than he’d feared, given that his marriage was something of an ongoing point of contention. Reactions varied. Iron, Veils and Stones made it very clear that they had no interest whatsoever and were going to ignore the whole thing. Spices seemed annoyed by the news for some reason, which could have been to do with its own condition, but then again it always seemed annoyed so who knew. Wines, Cups, and surprisingly Fires were politely interested, as was Pages aside from the scheming. 

As for Hearts, its interest went well beyond what could be considered polite, the situation causing its scientific side to come to the fore. The man who was Cards found himself bombarded with questions and theories, many of them alarming, and it took a promise that he’d keep it well informed of anything unusual happening to persuade it to leave him in peace and to promise in turn that it and those in its employ would stay away from his wife.

******************

Less than a month later something unusual did happen. It was subtle enough that he didn’t really notice it at first but when art supplies kept accumulating without any art works appearing and his wife bought coloured ink three times in one week he finally made the connection between it and something Hearts had mentioned. In keeping with his promise he reluctantly informed it of this development, much to its excitement, and tried not to dwell on the more alarming possibilities it suggested in response to hearing about this development. He didn’t mention the art supplies to his wife as that would most likely lead to a conversation that he wasn’t willing to have and which would potentially be hazardous to her given her condition, and instead quietly helped them to accumulate a little faster. Pastels. Conté crayons and the newfangled wax ones. Three kinds of paint.

Thankfully, and to Hearts’ noticeable disappointment, nothing else particularly out of the ordinary occurred during the pregnancy. Nevertheless his imagination wouldn’t leave him in peace and so when the time came his wife was attended by a physician known for his incurious nature and tight-lipped discretion.

The labour was a lengthy and not particularly easy one that he mostly spent worriedly pacing back and forth outside the bedroom door. Eventually it was over and the Incurious Physician emerged to inform him that he had a son.

Later, after both the baby and his wife has been tended to, the doctor had left, and his wife had fallen soundly asleep due to a combination of exhaustion and a dose of laudanum, the man who was sometimes Vincent and sometimes Cards examined his son. To his relief the infant appeared human. His features, although still squashed from birth, looked normal, there was no sign of fur and his shoulder blades were free of even the slightest nubs. But upon closer inspection there were some oddities. His son’s ears were slightly too long and pointed, like his own had been at the time of his son's conception, there seemed to be something odd about the proportions of his limbs and his digits looked longer than they should with both fingers and toes clinging to the blanket he was wrapped in with surprising strength. It wasn’t normal, but then his son wasn’t normal. He wasn’t entirely human, although more so than his father was and far more than he would be in the future, even if the exact extent to which he wasn’t human probably wouldn’t become fully apparent until he was older.

Even his son’s name was in a way a link to his unusual heritage. Some months earlier his wife had suggested naming the baby after himself if it was a boy, as neither of them had any male relatives that they considered worthy of honouring in such a fashion and there weren’t any names that they were particularly fond of, but “Vincent Todd” was merely the latest in a long line of aliases and he’d abandoned his birth name for a reason. However, a look through a names dictionary revealed another option. When translated, or simply when read by those for whom no translation was necessary, the Correspondence sigil that he used to sign things as Cards, and which was in many ways the truest name he had, read; “To Be Victorious Through Chance”. As luck would have it, there was a perfectly acceptable human name of approximate meaning: Felix. So Felix he was.

Cradling Felix in his arms, the man who was sometimes Cards and would one day be Cards in full gently stroked the downy little head with the thumb of the hand supporting it and hummed a lullaby as he sat down in a convenient armchair. Later he’d have to think of a way to explain the infant’s oddities to his wife, who’d apparently been too exhausted to comment on them earlier. Later he’d have to fulfil his promise and tell Hearts all about Felix and the oddities he’d noticed. Later he’d have to return to the demands of a very busy double life, now joined by the new demands of being a father. Right now though he was just going to savour holding his son.


	2. In Which Conversations Are Had And Arrangements Are Made

The man who was sometimes Vincent Todd and sometimes Mr Cards was having a bad week and it was almost entirely his own fault. After years of evasion, half-truths and his wife not commenting on things that she most definitely noticed, she’d finally decided that enough was enough, asked him some questions that he couldn’t wriggle out of and got some answers that she was really not happy about. Since then she had been quite understandably been avoiding him and he’d been respecting her right to do so, going as far as sleeping in his other rooms, the ones that had come with his robe.

However, he didn’t stay out of the family home altogether and was therefore in his study dealing with some paperwork related to his latest business venture when he heard a knock at the door. Answering it he found his wife standing there, looking slightly nervous but mostly determined.

“We need to talk. Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

They talked for a long time. About his transformation, what it meant in the long term, and why he hadn’t told her everything years ago.

“What about Felix?”

“Felix is Felix. He’s a healthy two year old boy with some minor physical oddities and an obsession with art supplies who’ll grow up to be an adult with some physical oddities and, probably, an obsession with art supplies. He isn’t going to become any less human than he was when he was born.”

He knew this for certain, well, unless Hearts had been lying to him when he had questioned it on the subject shortly after Felix was born. Given its tangible disappointment over Felix being almost entirely human and the fact that it had made the first of many attempts to persuade him to have another child so it could find out if one conceived when he was further along in the transformation process would have more Curator traits, he was reasonably confident that it hadn’t been though.

“Personally I’m just relived that the only traits he got from me are the ones my colleagues are responsible for.”

His wife, who knew his issues and the reasons for them, just sighed. This was followed by a lengthy pause in the conversation as his wife thought something over.

“You know what’s funny? I’m honestly more upset about the fact that you hid the truth from me than what that truth is. That’s not to say that I’m not unhappy about it though. I wasn’t sure how to feel about the changes you’ve undergone already and now that I know that they’re going to keep going on until you’re no longer human at all….”

She paused for a moment to find the right words.

“I’m sorry. I still love you and you’re a good father to Felix but I don’t think I can do this. One day you literally won’t be the man I married and I can’t knowingly spend my life watching you inch closer to that day every month.”

“It won’t be for a long time yet. It’ll take up to a hundred years for the process to be complete.”

“And how long will it be before you can no longer pass as human? You’re already starting to have difficulty doing so.”

He sighed and answered honestly.

“Maybe two years, if I really push things. I’ve been trying to get them to focus on the less visible or at least more easily concealed parts for the time being but that can only last for so long and they only comply so much.”

“And what did you think would happen after that? Besides everything else, a man who is secretly a Master of the Bazaar having a wife and child is a very different thing from a Master of the Bazaar having a wife and child.”

She had a point. Several in fact. If nothing else it would make her and Felix targets of anyone who sought to harm or gain an advantage against the Masters.

He sighed again.

“So, what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know but we’ll just have to figure something out.”

They spent the next hour doing so. In the end it was agreed that it would be better for everyone involved and easier and neater all round if they didn’t divorce. Instead, since legally speaking she was only married to Vincent Todd, not Mr Cards, as legally the two were completely separate persons so contracts entered into by one didn’t extend to the other, when the time came Vincent Todd would die (permanently), leaving his wife a respectable widow and her and their son well provided for. Mr Cards would keep its distance beyond what was deemed appropriate for a not especially close friend of the family, but still keep an eye on them and discreetly aid them if necessary. Felix would be informed of the truth when he was old enough to understand and keep quiet about it. What Felix would do afterwards would be up to him. Any other details would be finalised closer to when the Vincent Todd identity was to be cast aside.

And that’s what they did.


	3. Interlude: In Which Observations Are Made And Incorrect Conclusions Are Drawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter but put before the previous one I posted to adhere to in-story chronological order.

The Sensible Maid employed by the Todd family knew that her employers’ private lives were none of her business, at least not unless she had to clean up after them, but she wasn’t blind and she had a working brain in her head (contrary to what some had said over the years) so she still noticed things.

You would’ve had to have been blind, deaf and stupid to not notice that there was something strange going on in the lives of her employers. She couldn’t tell what it was exactly but there was definitely something. There was an ever present undercurrent of something in that house, a sense of secrets known but carefully kept unspoken. And the family was odd themselves in a number of ways. They very rarely had guests, although as the Maid was alarmed to discover, they did have one semi-regular and apparently usually uninvited visitor of the very tall, hooded and often difficult to understand variety, which even though it was none of her business raised a lot of questions in the Maid’s mind about her employers and what they got up to, especially since said visitor was often treated with a shocking amount of familiarity.

Whatever it was that her employers got up to, they always seemed to be busy and distracted because of it. Especially the husband. The Maid saw him regularly enough when she was first hired but as time went on she saw less and less of him until whole weeks could go by without so much as a glimpse of him. On the occasions she did she him she couldn’t help but be worried about his health; she had no idea what was wrong with him but whatever it was the poor man was declining at a fair pace. It seemed like he was more stooped and pained every time she saw him.

Then there was the son of the family. The Maid had helped to raise four much younger brothers and had worked in homes with children before and as such felt confident in deciding that the boy wasn’t normal, even though he was only two when she first met him. He didn’t look normal; limbs too long and fingers and toes longer still, ears too pointed and teeth too sharp. And his behaviour wasn’t normal; too solitary, too uninterested in other people and many of the things that a small boy should be interested in, too prone to strange moods and far, far too obsessive and possessive about his chalks, crayons and paints, of which he had far too many in the Maid’s opinion. She was sure that he often took them to bed with him, judging by the marks on the sheets when she went to make the bed, and when she’d been working for the family for a few months they had to hire a new nanny after the old one quit because the boy’s response to her trying to get him to do something else by taking his art supplies away was to bite her arm hard enough to tear her blouse and leave her needing stitches. The Maid never found out how the boy was punished for it but there wasn’t a repeat of the incident, at least not that the Maid knew of, although that could have just been due to the new nanny not repeating the mistake of her predecessor.

It wasn’t long after the biting incident that the Maid ran into the new nanny after cleaning upstairs and found herself enlisted to help her find her charge who’d decided to to pull a vanishing act when her back was turned. As the Maid went downstairs to do so she heard a familiar high-pitched voice that could only belong to a very specific visitor. With the beginning of a sinking feeling developing in her gut she followed the voice to the drawing room where, sure enough, was the boy, still wearing his little painter’s smock with a smudge of blue paint on his cheek and a smear of green in his hair, looking up with interest and not so much as a hint of fear at a hulking and hunched figure in ink stained robes who said something that the Maid wasn’t sure was even English and patted the boy on the head like a kindly relative.

Upon seeing that, an idea hit the Maid so hard that she couldn’t do anything other than just stand there for a few very long seconds. Then her female employer appeared behind her, stepped around her, greeted her visitor, apologised for her son bothering it, lightly admonished her son for doing so, and handed him over to the Maid with instructions to take him back to the nursery. The Maid did so and then got on with her normal duties but in the privacy of her own mind she found herself reflecting on how there wasn’t really all that much difference between ink pots and paint pots when it came down to it and how a certain possibility that had just occurred to her would certainly explain a few things and in some ways made an alarming amount of sense.

However she didn’t mention her thoughts to anyone and although she wasn't entirely successful she did her best to push it to the back of her mind. Her employers’ private lives were none of her business and on this occasion she didn’t want to know, not least because she had a feeling that knowing might prove to be hazardous to her long term health.


	4. Interlude: In Which a Transition Is Observed From an Outside Perspective

The Taciturn Stationer wasn’t one to boast but privately he thought that his shop was one of the best of its kind in London. It certainly had one of the widest ranges of merchandise, with a good selection of art supplies available alongside the more usual stationery.

The Stationer also wasn’t one to comment on his customers, even the regulars, but he did notice them, especially the more memorable ones. Such as the well-to-do looking gentleman who purchased art supplies with unusual regularity despite not giving the impression of being an artist. As an Annoyingly Gossipy Customer informed him one day after the man had left with his purchases, the gentleman in question was a person of considerable fame and importance, but as the Stationer hadn’t recognised him and honestly didn’t particularly care about who his customers were, that wasn’t what made the man memorable. That was actually due to a combination of his unusual pattern of purchases and the fact that the poor fellow seemed to be suffering from some sort of degenerative condition, the former making it reasonably easy to observe the progression of the latter. When the man first came in, it was every couple of weeks to buy an oddly indiscriminate variety of art supplies and he looked to be in reasonably good health. Then after an absence of about a year and a half he resumed patronising the Stationer’s shop, now noticeably more stooped and coming in once every month or two to purchase items appropriate for a young child. Every time he saw him he was a little more bent over (the Stationer once briefly fancied that he was also getting taller despite the stoop but decided that he must’ve been imagining things) and after a while his clothing became progressively heavier and bulkier.

The last time the Stationer saw the Ailing Gentleman was approximately five years after the first, give or take a couple of months. By that point the man was almost bent double, leaning heavily on a cane and well wrapped up in a long heavy coat, hat and scarf. He was also, for the first time, not alone. A boy of around four or five, gangly and probably newly breeched, accompanied him and eyed the Stationer’s wears with a sort of calculating covetousness that seemed out of place on such a young child and intensified when the Ailing Gentleman told him in an odd sounding near-whisper to pick out whatever he wanted. Several minutes of the boy carefully examining the various items for sale and back and forth negotiations between what the Stationer presumed to be father and son ensued, eventually ending in the purchase of a paintbox that the Stationer personally thought the boy was a few years too young for. Not that he said anything about it. Far be it from him to question a customer’s purchases. However, it did cause him to pay enough attention to the boy to catch a glimpse of teeth that were perhaps a little too sharp looking in places when the boy grinned happily and notice that the hands that reached up to take the newly purchased paintbox had fingers that were unusually long and ended in nails that had a greyish tinge to them. As he’d noticed that the Ailing Gentleman also had very long fingers, the Stationer spared a thought to hope that the boy didn't inherit his father’s condition. The poor man looked to be in worse shape than some Tomb Colonists he’d seen, walking with noticeable difficulty as he left the shop with his son, the paintbox tightly clutched to the latter’s chest.

When he learnt from the Annoyingly Gossipy Customer a month or so later that they had seen the Ailing Gentleman’s obituary in their favoured newspaper a week or two ago, the Stationer wasn’t terribly surprised, although privately he couldn’t help but wonder about the timing given that the Ailing Gentleman had passed for the final time so soon after that last visit to the shop and spared a moment of sympathy for the man and his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breeching, for anyone who's wondering, was the practice of dressing boys in trousers or short pants for the first time since in the Victorian era it was the norm for very young children of both sexes to wear dresses. The age at which this occurred varied according to era and a family's preferences, it occurring at the age of four-ish is perhaps a little early but his father wanted to be present for that particular right of passage and he couldn't wait any longer.
> 
> Edit: This chapter used to be Chapter Three but I had to put a new chapter before it to keep things in chronological order. Such are the perils of pantsing rather than planning.


	5. In Which There Is a Selection of Letters That Make Great Use of Subtext

Dear C,

It seems very strange to address you in this manner rather than the one I am accustomed to but I shall just have to get used to it.

Things have been going as well as they could be since I last saw you, although I imagine that you already knew that. Given how well this inevitable state of affairs was prepared for the biggest problem I’ve encountered is my having to pretend to be how people would expect me to be in my purported circumstances so as to not invited unwanted speculation, although I doubt that any potential gossips would ever divine the truth. The whole thing is proving to be surprisingly tedious.

F misses you, although not enough to lose interest in his paints and crayons of course. That said, he cried move over the realisation that you were gone for good than I think he has done so over anything since he was a baby. I feel absolutely terrible about doing this to him and leading him to believe what he does but as we agreed it was the only way. Children of his age are not known for their discretion after all.

As you already know we will be moving from our current home to that handsome town-house soon. I would be lying if I said I was unhappy about doing so, you know that I’ve always had mixed feelings about my current place of residence, but I do worry that F will react rather more poorly to the move. It is the only home he’s known after all and by the standards of someone his age he has dealt with quite a lot of change already.

I will write to you again after we are settled into the new house.

Yours sincerely,

E

Dear E,

I am glad to hear that things have been going as smoothly was was hoped. The recent change of circumstances has been an adjustment for me as well, although I have to admit that it hasn’t been an entirely unpleasant one. While there are things that I will miss, including the pleasure of your company, it is part of something I chose for myself and went to great lengths to obtain and we both know how taxing the previous situation had become.

I miss F as well and I regret that I was unable to be a part of his life for longer. Of course, had he been more like how I’ll be in the future I wouldn’t have that problem but that would have been terribly unfair and unkind to you in so many ways and as I’ve mentioned before it was honestly a relief to be informed that he was excluded from the usual arrangements. Well, at least officially. Certain individuals may think otherwise, I’m sure that you can guess which ones, but I have done my best to deter them from bothering you. The move may help in that regard.

As you’d expect, I don’t take the fact that my absence hasn’t caused F to lose any interest in his paints at all personally. He is the way he is because of me after all.

I look forward to your next letter.

Yours sincerely,

C

Dear C,

The move went as smoothly as it could and we are now settled into the new house. As expected F was not happy about the move, particularly when it was time for his art supplies to be boxed up, although thankfully he didn’t bite anyone this time. He may have already learnt to have some restraint after all. He was much happier once everything was unpacked though. I hope that he will settle in quickly, he is currently painting in his new room, at least he was the last time I checked, which may be a good sign but I am not entirely certain. I am fairly certain that he still misses you, I know that I do, despite everything.

I am sorry that this letter isn’t longer but I am very tired from the move and the preparations beforehand. I hope that you are well and that everything is going well for you.

Yours sincerely, 

E

Dear E,

I am very well thank you and I am glad to hear that the move went well. I wouldn’t worry too much about F if I was you, to paraphrase someone of my acquaintance, one feels at home when surrounded by the things that formed you and F certainly is.

I’m afraid that I don’t have time to write more either as I have to deal with a situation that a certain colleague of mine is currently attempting to inflict upon me. I do not anticipate that I will have any difficulty in doing so but it is a matter that cannot wait.

Yours sincerely,

C

***************

Dear C, 

It is strange to realise that it has been almost two years since you left. It doesn’t seem that long.

F started school this week. I did consider hiring a governess to educate him at home until he was older but he really needs to get used to dealing with others and I am hoping that interacting with others his own age will help to at least somewhat moderate some of the more unfortunate aspects of his character. Alas it appears that if it does it may take a while to do so as so far it hasn’t been going well at all. Amongst other things he seems to have little interest in his peers and resents having to leave all of his collection at home, although he did agree that his things would be safer here than there. I am hoping that it is just a matter of him adjusting to something new, although I must confess that I am not hoping much.

I hear that your business has been going well. I am glad to know that your new life has been successful for you. My own career has likewise been going well although I suspect that you already knew that.

Yours sincerely,

E

***************

Dear C,

Something unexpected but very welcome has happened. It may have taken over a year but F has finally managed to make a friend at school. While I have yet to actually meet the boy, I gather that he is a new pupil and one who is likewise unpopular with his peers, possibly because while his father is presumably very successful his line of business is one that, while essential, isn’t what you’d call well respected and is an all too ready source of inspiration for school-boy taunts. F of course doesn’t care in the least and seems quite happy to have his company, which is all that really matters. I just hope that it lasts.

I wish that I could write more but I am rather pressed for time at the moment and will likely continue to be for quite a while. The price of success I suppose, even in academia and science.

Yours sincerely,

E

Dear E,

I’m glad to hear that F has finally managed to make friends with someone. I had worried that he was proving too different from his peers to do so. I remember my own childhood loneliness all too well and don’t wish for him to likewise be lonely, although he does appear to be far less troubled by such things than I was.

From what I hear your career isn’t the only thing that has been taking up your time. While I can’t say that I’m surprised that you have a suitor and I am in no position to object even if I wasn’t currently embarking on a courtship of my own, I will say that I hope that he is good enough for you. You deserve the best after all. I dare say that he’d most likely run a mile if he knew who your late husband was though.

Yours sincerely,

C

Dear C,

How far the gentleman currently courting me may or may not run upon discovering certain details regarding my late husband is a completely irrelevant matter as I shall not be telling him, although since you’ve mentioned it I imagine that he would react rather poorly yes.

This is the first I’ve heard of you courting anyone. May I ask who it is? Is it one of your colleagues and if so, is a certain individual of literary leanings by any chance? I admit that I have harboured suspicions in that area for quite some time.

F is still happy to have a friend, if more than a tad possessive. I’m still hoping for the best.

Yours sincerely,

E

Dear E,

Possessiveness is to be expected, it is in his nature after all. I just hope that he keeps it within acceptable limits.

No, I’m not courting the person you’re thinking of. While I suspect that the person in question may be interested in me doing so, I am not, not least because I consider it unwise to become romantically involved with one’s frequent opponent, even when the relationship is otherwise a friendly one.

It is however one of my colleagues, yes, specifically the blue-eyed one. It is not something that I expected, in fact, given that the whole thing more or less crept up on us so gradually that we’re not entirely sure when it started or who started it, I don’t think that either of us expected it to happen. However, it is more than welcome to both of us, even if things are still somewhat tentative and not just because my own particular circumstances are something of a complicating factor.

I hope that your own romance goes as well as or better than mine.

Yours sincerely,

C

****************

Dear C,

As I am sure you are aware, after several months of courtship my erstwhile suitor turned out to be after my money. Needless to say I didn’t stand for it and informed him in no uncertain terms that his presence was no longer welcome. I am sure that you are also already aware that the beastly cad refused to accept this and has been making an increasingly unpleasant nuisance of himself. I did not inform you of either thing as I was more than capable of handling them and because I knew that you probably already knew anyway. 

However, I am now writing to inquire as to whether or not you also know why he appears to have abruptly vanished and where he may have gone. I don’t mean to say that I am not glad to see the back of him because I am, but it is most curious.

Yours sincerely,

E

Dear E, 

I can honestly say that I do not know where the unpleasant individual in question has gone, although I will note that a great number of ships have left London recently, many with distant and sometimes unpleasant destinations. There is a possibility that a canny young man of my acquaintance may know more but I would have to ask him.

I am however a glad that he is no longer a problem. To my mind anyone who troubles you, a person I still hold in great affection and to whom I owe many things, in such a manner deserves their comeuppance, whatever it may be. Particularly when someone matching their description was seen lurking around outside a certain school.

Yours sincerely,

C

***************

Dear C,

I find myself faced with something of a conundrum, albeit one that I knew I’d have to face sooner or later, and I would appreciate your advice on the matter.

F has been asking about his father, often rather odd questions at that. I find myself wondering if the time has come to tell him the truth but he is only nine which is somewhat younger than I had planned. I don’t know if he’s old enough to fully understand everything and be able to exercise the necessary discretion regarding the matter, although he is a bright boy as well as an odd one.

What do you think I should do?

Yours sincerely,

E

Dear E,

As you said, it is something that is going to happen sooner or later. You may as well get it over with. My suggestion would be to wait until he asks you another question about his father and then explain everything to him, circumstances permitting of course. I could keep secrets well enough when I was nine, I imagine that he’ll be able to do so too. As whether or not he will be able to fully understand the situation, there is only really one way to find out, although I am sure that he will manage.

I am more than willing to do my part in answering any questions he may have about his father, should he express interest in me doing so. I hope that he does, as it would be a pleasure to speak to him properly again after all these years.

I wish you the best of luck.

Yours sincerely,

C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points to anyone who spots and correctly identifies the ES character cameo of sorts. As always, feedback will be much appreciated in general.


	6. In Which A Young Boy Asks Questions And Has Them Answered

The boy named Felix was nine years old and was starting to wonder about his father. He remembered a man who had held that title, albeit through the haze of early childhood memories, but a seed of doubt had planted itself as to whether or not the man in question actually was my father. Admittedly he wasn’t entirely sure how someone’s father could be someone other than the man their mother was married to but according to his friend Henry, who had overheard a conversation that he probably wasn’t supposed to in which the subject had come up, it was definitely possible.

Perhaps that had been what had planted the seed of wondering. Or maybe it had been all the times that assorted family friends and acquaintances had said that he looked nothing like his father and the examinations of his parents’ wedding photo that proved those claims to be true. He had asked his mother about it and her response had been that he mostly took after her side of the family, which seemed reasonable enough.

Regardless of what had planted the seed though, the thing that had thrown a great deal of fertiliser on it was when he’d overheard a recently hired maid talking to one of the ones who’d worked for his family for as long as he could remember. Specifically the one who always seemed a rather wary of him for some reason and who he had often caught giving him odd looks that he couldn’t put a name to. The new maid had been commenting on all his drawing and painting things and how possessive he was about them (he didn’t see the problem, they were his things, not anyone else’s and anyway he let his friend Henry use them, sometimes, and had conceded that paints and the like that weren’t in his collection belonged to other people) and at one point had compared him to the Masters, going as far as calling him “Mr Paints”. She’d laughed when she’d said it so it was probably a joke but the other maid had almost snapped at her, telling her not to talk about such things and sounding almost afraid when she did. And so Felix had been left wondering.

As young as he was, he’d already started to vaguely comprehend that he was, in some way he didn’t yet know how to define, different from his peers beyond just his physical oddities and had wondered why that was. The possibility that he wasn’t entirely human seemed a more appealing explanation than some of the ones he’d heard put forward by schoolmates, teachers and family friends, if nothing else it was certainly more interesting. And it was true that the Masters of the Bazaar, or some of them at least, had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember. Not a major part mind you but they’d always sort of been there on the edges of things and towering cloaked figures made repeated appearances in his early childhood memories. He hadn’t been afraid of them back then and to be honest he still wasn’t, although he knew that other people were and more or less understood why.

He asked his mother about it and she’d said that his father had had many close dealings with them and had even been something resembling friends with a couple of them, which in the case of Mr Pages it had apparently regarded as perpetual permission to come into their home, demand refreshments and comment on their library. When he’d asked why his father had had such close dealings with them her response had been to say something about business interests and his father having had the lease of a spire emporium which had been where they’d lived before his death and which had meant that the Masters had technically been their neighbours (Felix told his friend Henry about the latter later; he was very impressed), followed by her changing the subject.

While he wasn’t entirely sure how someone became someone’s father, other than that being married to their mother apparently wasn’t a requirement, his parents had known at least some of the Masters and at least some of the Masters had known his parents so maybe whatever needed to happen had happened. But if one of them was his real father, which one was it? Mr Pages was the lead possibility, because he vaguely remembered it patting him on the head once when he was little and paint was sort of similar to ink, but he also remembered his mother referring to Mr Cards as a family friend once or twice in the past and there had been a very strange incident a year or two ago where he’d somehow managed to cross paths with Mr Apples and it had seemed surprisingly pleased to see him for some reason.

After ruminating on the matter for a couple of weeks, Felix decided that there was only really one way to settle things; he’d have to ask his mother.

Of course, that was easier said than done. He had more than enough sense to realise that asking when anyone else was around or when his mother was busy would be a bad idea, so there were a limited number of opportunities, the first three of which went to waste because when the moment came he couldn’t get the words out.

Eventually he managed to gather his courage and get the question out one evening after dinner when he knew that the maids would be out of earshot.

“Mama, can I ask you something?”

“Of course Felix, what is it?”

Feeling a bit like he was jumping off something from a great height, he forced the question out before it could get stuck in his throat.

“Is my father my real father?”

His mother didn’t laugh. She didn’t get angry. She just looked at him with an odd expression on her face.

“Yes, he is. And the time has come for me to tell you about him. But not now. Later, we’ll discuss this later.”

He nodded in agreement and understanding.

It wasn’t much later, maybe an hour or two, after his mother sent all the staff who didn’t live in their house home for the day and made sure that the ones who did were safely out of potential earshot. They went into the drawing room, his mother closed the door and then they sat down and she told him about his father.

As it turned out, some of his suspicions were right although not in the way he’d been expecting. The man he remembered as being his father was his father but he’d also been Mr Cards and now was only Cards. Obviously, this meant that he was also still alive. His mother seemed to have a bit of difficulty explaining exactly what had happened and all the how and whys but in the end he understood well enough.

His father had been human but he’d wanted to be something else and risked it all playing a game called the Marvellous to make it happen. He’d won and had since then been getting progressively less human. Felix was a bit different from most people because he’d been born after that process had started but he wouldn’t get any less human than he already was. His father had stayed in his life for as long as he could but when he couldn’t pass for human any more he’d had to leave and become Mr Cards full-time. Felix’s mother assured him that his father still cared about him, that she wrote to him about him, that he’d kept an eye on Felix from a distance and looked forward to one day seeing him again.

When Felix’s mother was done talking, he sat without saying anything for several long moments as he mulled everything over. Eventually he spoke.

“Can I see him?”

“Yes. I think so anyway. I’ll need to write to him first to let him know that you know and make arrangements so it may take a few days.”

“That’s fine.”

Standing up, she walked over and hugged him, something that she very rarely did.

“I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you again after all this time.”

While most of him wasn’t sure how to feel about everything, part of him hoped that she was right.

***************

In the end it only took a couple of days to arrange everything. His mother didn’t waste any time in writing to his father and his father didn’t waste any in responding either judging by the speed with which his reply arrived. A couple of days after that found Felix dressed in his Sunday best and travelling with his mother to Mr Card’s casino at an hour when few people were around. Going in through a side entrance they didn’t encounter anyone as they made their way along a corridor, up a flight of stairs and along another corridor until they reached a door that didn’t look any different from the ones they’d passed. His mother knocked and a moment later a somewhat high-pitched but almost familiar voice responded from behind the door.

“Come in.”

The room within was a surprisingly normal office, although some of the furniture was bigger than usual. Its occupant had been seated behind the desk but stood up as they entered and therefore towered over both of them, silvery-blue eyes looking down at them from under an otherwise all-concealing hood. There was a moment’s awkward silence in which everyone seemed to be waiting for someone else to say something first, then Felix stepped forward and met that silvery-blue gaze with his own.

“Hullo Father. It’s good to see you again.”

There was a brief pause before the cloaked figure replied in that same almost-familar voice.

“It’s good to see you again too. I’ve missed you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was uncommon for upper-middle class parents to show physical affection towards their children in this era; Felix's mother is actually a great deal more affectionate than most. 
> 
> As always, feedback would be greatly appreciated. It helps the creative process and is the means by which I know what I'm doing right and what needs to improve.


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